


to have and to hold, probably

by seventhstar



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, i'm back on my bullshit, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 22:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20104660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: Written forthis prompt over at the Tadfield Advertiser kink meme.They have long, drawn out arguments about this, if they can even be termed arguments; onlookers inevitably describe their tone of voice as 'fond' and their mode of communication as 'bickering'. The wine is passed back and forth between them. Marriage, Aziraphale argues, is divine. It's about love. It's about making promises, and keeping them. It's about faith and hope and devotion.Marriage, Crowley replies, is infernal. It gives two people who love each other endless opportunities to ruin it. It's about power and money and pain; it's caused more evil than it ever has good.Or, the one where they get drunk married in Las Vegas.





	to have and to hold, probably

**Author's Note:**

> First GO fic. I am very intimidated. But here I am.

In 1931, Nevada passes a law that makes obtaining a marriage license the legal equivalent of one-click check out on Amazon. Crowley takes credit for this. Crowley's personal policy has always been that everything in Las Vegas is his fault, because they call it _Sin_ City, and the human invention of sin had been directly related to Crowley's apple-related inducements.

(Aziraphale also gets a commendation for this. This is because the law was his idea, in response to a Heavenly memo about core values.)

They have long, drawn out arguments about this, if they can even be termed arguments; onlookers inevitably describe their tone of voice as 'fond' and their mode of communication as 'bickering'. The wine is passed back and forth between them. Marriage, Aziraphale argues, is divine. It's about love. It's about making promises, and keeping them. It's about faith and hope and devotion.

Marriage, Crowley replies, is infernal. It gives two people who love each other endless opportunities to ruin it. It's about power and money and pain; it's caused more evil than it ever has good.

Neither of them win the argument. In a century where so many of their conversations are fraught and heavy, this one remains soft and well-worn like an old pair of sheets.

* * *

Atomic Liquors, 1967. Two beings have been drinking long into the night and are now drunk, and laughing. They are having an argument they have had a thousand times before.

They have never had this argument surrounded by so many wedding chapels. Ethereal and occult beings are sensitive by nature to the humans around them. They are not, perhaps, sensitive to the same things. But the chaos of a hundred couples joining--legally, emotionally, financially, sexually--all around them is inescapable. It settles into their blood right alongside the alcohol.

* * *

London, 1969. Aziraphale is pretending to do inventory. He has just settled into an armchair, book held tenderly in white gloved hands, when a sheet of paper slips out from between the pages and onto the floor.

It is not part of the book. Within the confines of the bookshop, certain things are forbidden.

(Among a certain group of London university students it is well known that if you bring in a damaged book, binder, pile of loose-leaf paper, scribbled on napkin, or ancient stone tablet, and merely leave it unattended for a few minutes, it will be restored. Archaeologists come to London especially for this purpose, though they run the risk of their texts never reappearing. A group of occultists who have worked out that the odd rare book dealer in Soho is Definitely Supernatural leave him wet books as offerings.)

Upon inspection, Aziraphale discovers the sheet of paper is a Nevada marriage certificate, which is odd.

Upon further inspection, Aziraphale discovers the married parties in question are one ‘AzirAphaLE’ written in a beautiful copperplate hand (Aziraphale, when drunk, employed creative capitalization) and one Anthony J. Crowley, written in such a way that the ‘J’ looks rather serpentine.

* * *

Aziraphale does not find the dove grey tuxedo, the one with lapels that had started out as cheap satin and then had a divine revelation that left them as silk, the one with the Friar Tux tags still attached.

Crowley does, hanging inside a garment bag with an equally tragic tuxedo in powder blue, in Crowley’s closet alongside his collection of skinny black jeans, leather jackets, and snakey items of questionable taste. (He wears faux snakeskin, but the cummerbund is the shade of black that only appears in two places: in the ashes of the Fallen, and on a certain Serpent’s scales. Crowley doesn’t recall actually shedding any skin in Las Vegas, which raises a number of disturbing questions.)

Only a miraculously timed phone call spares the blue tux from an untimely—well, Crowley thinks that it’s about time, he can’t have that monstrosity in his closet, he has standards—demise. Crowley can’t conceive of keeping it in his apartment. It makes him feel things, and napping until the century is over isn’t an option. He stuffs it back into the garment bag and leaves it under the sofa in the bookshop’s back room.

(He saves the grey one. He lies to Aziraphale about its whereabouts, and then hangs it back up. He touches it, sometimes, with the reverence of a sinner at the feet of a benevolent god.)

* * *

“They can’t find out.”

“Be bad if they did.”

“We’ll have to _do_ something.”

“Right. Of course.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…lunch?”

“If you insist.”

* * *

By 1974, Nevada has legalized no-fault divorce. Crowley takes credit for this: he cites the destruction of families and the devaluation of marriage and the assault on core values as proof of his evil works. Aziraphale also takes credit, on the grounds that forcing people to remain married is as evil as forcing them to not marry at all.

Neither of them mentions that their sole aim was to make it as easy as possible to get a divorce themselves.

“Since we got married legally,” Aziraphale said, “it seems that we’ll have to get divorced legally, as well.”

“Otherwise our lots might notice,” Crowley agreed.

* * *

No one ever notices.

* * *

Also, neither of them ever files for divorce.

* * *

A.Z. Fell & Co., 2020.

“Would you mind filling these out?” Aziraphale pushes a stack of papers across the table. Crowley hasn’t bothered to order food, so there’s plenty of room.

Crowley looks down, baffled, at Aziraphale’s taxes. He knows that Aziraphale pays taxes, though on what, he has never understood. Generally to pay taxes one needs money, and to get money one needs income, and to get income one has to sell something.

(Aziraphale makes a respectable income on other rare book-related endeavors: appraisals and repairs and translations. He’s just never let on to Crowley that it’s so, because the last time Aziraphale spent too much time with other book dealers, Crowley seethed with jealousy for months. His plants still quiver at the sight of a book, or even the sound of pages turning. It would be _cruel_ to repeat their suffering.

Also, Aziraphale suspects being able to make Crowley wild with jealousy on demand might be useful to him someday. Best to keep that card close to the vest, he feels.)

“Wait a minute,” Crowley says, once he’s parsed the details; it isn’t difficult, as Aziraphale’s records are meticulous and his calculations exact and his handwriting extremely legible. Aziraphale was responsible for the _idea_ of taxes. Crowley was responsible for everything else. “What’s this? You’re filing a joint claim?”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale says. “I realize that you do not pay taxes, Crowley, but as small businessperson, my reputation depends on—”

“Oh, come off it, the tax people all think you’re in the mob.”

“I—what?”

“No one’s taxes are as nice as yours. Only criminals have perfect taxes, regular people always cheat a little.”

“I’m merely doing my civic duty.”

“I don’t have any money, what am I paying taxes on?” This is a lie; Crowley has several methods by which he obtains actual income. The money is then laundered and put through a convoluted series of tax shelters. And then Crowley ignores its existence and continues _not paying for things._ (Unless he feels like it.)

“Just fill out the forms, will you? With proper answers, not just wiggly drawings of snakes and the like.”

Crowley fills out the forms. He does not ask again why Aziraphale is filing a joint claim; Aziraphale has written his name in the blank where the spouse’s name usually goes. Aziraphale eats excruciatingly slowly, and the entire time, Crowley is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It doesn’t.

(Crowley doesn’t end up paying any taxes, but he also abuses the tax code until Aziraphale pays no taxes, and in fact the government has to pay him.

His wiggly drawings of snakes give the auditors a laugh.)

* * *

“You know, we never did get that divorce.”

“I suppose we didn’t.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Dinner? There’s a lovely Ethiopian place that’s just opened. Though it _is_ all the way on the other side of the city. Very far. The weather today is _unseasonably_ warm. And the restaurant is popular and _very_ crowded—"

“Oh, just get in, angel. I’ll take care of yo—it.”

* * *

Las Vegas, 2020.

It’s still called Sin City.

A 1927 Bentley is crawling through an all-night drive-through chapel.

Vow renewals are divine, Aziraphale is arguing. They’re about promises kept, and devotion unchanged. They’re about faith in each other, and hope for the future, and love.

Vow renewals, Crowley is arguing, are the last gasp of failing marriages. People only need to renew their vows when they’ve expired, and love goes off just like milk left out on the counter too long.

(They bicker, fondly, before the ceremony, and during, and after, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> comments are very appreciated <3


End file.
